


[your touch ∞ magnetizing]

by rightsidethru



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ethnocentrism, F/M, Kid Fic, Kids, M/M, PTSD, Racism, Tarsus IV, Teens, Xenophobia, canon violence, failed eugenics agenda, post-Tarsus IV, psi abilities, starvation (recovery)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/pseuds/rightsidethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock was fifteen the first time James Tiberius Kirk caught his gaze in Shi'Kahr's main bazaar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[your touch ∞ magnetizing]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distractedKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractedKat/gifts), [eimeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eimeo/gifts), [waldorph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/gifts), [epicionly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicionly/gifts).



> So! This story came about while listening to Katy Perry's "ET" on the radio (to which I can neither confirm nor deny that I took the title from part of the lyrics.......), and I thought about the song from Spock's perspective regarding Jim, and I've been wanting to write a kid!Jim and kid!Spock (or, well, _teen_ versions) of both for quite a while and... *rambles* Well, needless to say, this story was spawned.
> 
> Dedicated, over all, to my favorite Star Trek writers. <333 If I hadn't read their stories over and over (and over and over and over) again, I probably wouldn't have ever written my own. Thus: Thank you, so very much, for the inspiration that you have given me--and the joy that I've felt as I've read your stories. You are amazing and talented and I reread your stories on a very regular basis.

**prologue: golden ghosts**

The air burned.

Summertime in Shi'Kahr meant a spike in temperatures, the sun raging down at midday until most offworlders (what few actually lingered on Vulcan) retreated within shade and shadow until the too-close sun lowered into the sky and the desert world cooled into nighttime. Yet that was still hours away (seven-point-twenty-two hours away, to be exact), and fifteen year-old Spock had not expected his attention to be caught on such an offworlder—and not someone who gleamed golden.

Blonde hair bleached even lighter by Vulcan’s sun stood in stark contrast against the dark hair that all Vulcans possessed: easily noticeable, vivid and bright, and Spock could see the many sidelong glances that his people sometimes gave to the youth as he stopped at one of the many booths in the bazaar, head lowered to inspect some petty trinket.

Hollowed cheeks and gaunt facial lines gave testament to some recent trauma, as did the bruised skin beneath the boy’s hidden gaze, and it was the delicate, too-thin wrist that finally sparked something like curiosity within the Vulcan teen as the other boy reached out to gesture to whatever it was he was currently inspecting. It was the curiosity—such an odd reaction to a stranger, one in which Spock had thought not to _feel_ —that prompted Spock to linger just a bit longer, dark gaze thoughtful as he continued to watch the exchange between the human boy and the vendor.

Perhaps the boy had sensed another’s gaze upon him, some deeply instinctive knowledge allowing him to know that he was being watched, but—all the while—Spock had not expected the youth to glance up, pinning the Vulcan teen in place with eyes so blue they should have been considered unnatural, a flaw somewhere, buried deep within his genetic code.

And the other’s mind suddenly crashed against his own, thoughts/impressions/ _feelings_ colliding and disrupting Spock’s carefully catalogued and organized mind—cornfields stretching out far and wide beneath the Terran sky; a vehicle still driven by fossil fuel, cherry red and gleaming after a wash; a man whose face was sharp and unforgiving, carved from stone, even as his mouth opened to order the start of the execut—

That foreign presence abruptly left, leaving Spock’s mind empty and oddly bereft, even as the teen gasped for breath as his knees gave out beneath him. The Vulcan could hear his mother’s worried “Spock? Spock, darling, are you well?”, though the inquiries sounded as if from a distance—far and away, of no true matter at this time, even as his mind continued to reel from the connection and as Spock fought to find some sort of bearing, solid ground for his mental facilities to stand upon.

When coherency was finally returned to him, Spock glanced upwards towards the booth where he had last seen the human boy, but—not unexpectedly—the other was gone, almost as if he had never been there at all if not for Spock’s intense reaction to his mind brushing against the other boy’s.

If Vulcans hadn’t thought superstitions too illogical to consider, perhaps Spock might have otherwise believed that he had come across some sort of ghost, one with blue eyes blue who gleamed golden beneath the sun—one who carried enough pain-despair- _rage_ within his mind that the merest touch was enough to incapacitate another.

Despite everything, however: Spock’s curiosity remained.


End file.
